Fame
by sarabethloves
Summary: Needing any form of work she can get, up-and-coming journalist, Rukia Kuchiki, takes a job at a tabloid newspaper covering the hotshot movie star, Ichigo Kurosaki. In the process of getting dirt on the notoriously private celebrity, she ends up becoming entangled in his business and his life. When the media thinks you're dating a movie star the best you can do is play along, right?
1. Chapter 1

**I'm baaaaaaack. I really told myself I wouldn't get taken by another cliche IR au but HERE WE ARE. I really don't have a lot of expectations for this one but I've missed writing steadily for something so I figure if I post here, I'll have motivation to actually finish it. This one will NOT be as long as Shall We Dance, if you read that one, because I don't have time for something that long but it will be multi-chap and probably at least around 12 or more chapters. Also, as you can tell from the rating, this one is sexier than Shall We Dance and isn't quite as slowburn, lol. Hope you guys enjoy! I got a lot of lovely reviewers on my last fic so I hope you guys will stick around for this one! Please, please, please let me know what you think!**

* * *

"Shit, shit, SHIT," Rukia Kuchiki grumbled, her hands gripping the steering wheel of her run-down sedan so hard they began to turn white. The standstill traffic stretched a seemingly endless distance ahead of her and the young and frazzled twenty-two-year-old wondered if she'd ever make it out alive, let alone to her final destination on time.

"Urahara is going to kill me for sure this time," she commented to herself, just picturing the inevitable encounter with her sketchy and eccentric boss once she told him she'd missed the press conference because she got stuck in traffic. It wasn't _her_ fault the production company's publicists had decided to hold the press conference for their new raunchy rom-com in the middle of rush hour in one of the busiest cities in East Asia. Still, her boss would find a way to pin it on her anyway. As incompetent as he was at his _own_ job he still expected nothing but the best from his reporters.

 _Stupid, lowly tabloid job I don't even care about is going to make it so I drop further down the journalism ladder,_ Rukia thought to herself angrily. This would mark the third time she had failed to cover a story her boss asked her to get the dirt on. Urahara was flighty and obnoxious, but he still had standards and she figured she was on a 'three strikes and you're out' basis with him. The first two times were due more to her 'stay out of the way and keep to yourself' personality than her tardiness. A tabloid reporter was, by definition, nosy and willing to step across any boundary to get the scoop. Rukia never felt comfortable doing so. She knew that if the situation was reversed and she was the celebrity with something to hide, she'd loathe any low-life tabloid journalist trying to butt into her life.

"That's just what reporters do, Rukia," she mocked, twisting her voice into a terrible imitation of her boss.

'Poke around, ask lots of questions, and leave the consequences to me' was Urahara's infamous motto. As ridiculous as the man was, that philosophy had given him the most popular and 'relatively' credible tabloid newspaper out of them all. He was legendary in the business, and almost any celebrity with half a brain knew to watch out for him.

But she and Urahara were opposites. Rukia didn't ask a lot of questions. She preferred to listen to her interviewees and write an elaborate story with flourishing language and polished syntax. Of course, that kind of journalism was more suited for a business journal than for a trashy tabloid. And, as much as she hated to admit it, there were a lot of connections in the tabloid industry with higher-level journals and newspapers. Everyone had to start somewhere and unfortunately for Rukia, Urahara's _Tokyo Digest_ was that somewhere.

As the cars in front of her inched along, Rukia had to remind herself why she was doing this in the first place. It may not be glamourous, but this shitty reporting job put the gas in her old car and the microwavable frozen dinners on her table. Ever since her brother practically disowned her for her career choices, she'd been living on her own, taking whatever terrible job she could get to pay the bills. This was the first lowly job that had even remotely anything to do with her future career field. It was a stepping stone to what could be something great. She had to remind herself of that fact almost constantly.

Of course, she thought, it doesn't even matter anymore. The traffic wasn't letting up and the minutes continued ticking on by. The press conference she was assigned to attend would be starting in ten minutes and she was at least twenty away _without_ the traffic. She had to resist the urge to bang her head on her steering wheel repeatedly. At this point she couldn't afford a trip to the emergency room for a concussion on top of being late.

Her phone buzzing in the passenger seat caught her attention and brought her out of her depressing thoughts. She sighed when she read the text message that was displayed on her home screen.

'From: Mr. Bossman

Got word the press conference is going to start late. Kurosaki is stuck in traffic and won't be there for at least another half hour. Hope you brought some coffee! 3'

Rukia rolled her eyes at her boss's flippant way of relaying information, though the sentiment was subdued given the relief that was currently washing over her. Leave it to the celebrities she covered to save the day, and potentially her job. As flighty and random as her boss was, the celebs she was forced to get information out of were even worse.

Any self-respecting human, famous or not, wouldn't exactly look forward to media attention. Not a single celebrity she interacted with ever appeared to enjoy a press conference or interview. Media appointments were nothing more than a check on their to-do list to rake in their incredible salaries. And, from what she had heard, the new hotshot movie star she was covering today was one of the media's biggest issues.

Ichigo Kurosaki was the typical handsome and dashing up-and-comer who had that mysterious 'bad boy' edge that made any woman within ten feet of him swoon. He was this particular production company's favorite new male lead and had already starred in a number of their hit rom-coms and chick flicks. He was notoriously hard to nail down for any kind of interview other than what was strictly required for the movies he was in. He apparently did an impressive job keeping his private life private. No one knew what girl he was dating or what new trends he was into because he kept most of it behind closed doors. What was really attractive (at least to everyone working in the tabloid industry) were the few times he lost his privacy and let a few juicy snippets leak through of what might be happening off camera.

It was nothing too earth-shattering, at least in Rukia's opinion, but what the media had managed to get from him had kept them wanting more. Leaked photographs of him and a past co-star doing naughty things outside their hotel room in the Caribbean, a few altercations with paparazzi who got a little too up close and personal, and rumored 'diva issues' with past personal assistants and other movie staff. All in all he sounded like any other celebrity, but there was just something about him that made him one of the top new media hotspots.

So, despite the fact that a press conference was hardly the place a lowly tabloid reporter should really be, Urahara had sent her off to try and grab something. Really anything other than his movie business was appreciated, but Rukia was confused as to why Urahara trusted her of all people with one of his new favorite targets.

She wasn't aggressive, she felt uncomfortable asking personal questions, and she just knew that in a room full of reporters with years, even decades, more experience than her combined with a celebrity that seemed to have a vendetta against everything she worked for, she wasn't going to be able to get a word in edgewise, let alone gather 'juicy' information.

But hey, at least now with Ichigo Kurosaki's tardiness she'd have the opportunity to at least say she tried. Unable to get anything out of a notoriously hard to crack celebrity was a much better excuse than 'I got stuck in traffic'.

Now with a new glimpse of hope, Rukia weathered the rest of the downtown Tokyo traffic as best she could, made it to the location of the press conference seemingly before the movie producers, publicists, and the popular male lead had, miraculously managed to find a parking spot and walked up to a small room. She showed the guard her credentials and was ushered inside with an emotionless nod. Inside, dozens of reporters and photographers were milling about. Most of them seemed to know each other or were at least willing to exchange pleasantries while Rukia found one of the last open seats in the middle of the crowd and plopped herself down. At the front of the room was a long table covered in a plain, black cloth with a banner behind it displaying the movie's logo.

Rukia looked around the room at the rest of her 'colleagues'. Some were from reputable entertainment magazines and websites, others she was sure were probably more locally based, and then there was her. The very obvious tabloid newspaper journalist who everyone immediately looked down upon as soon as they got a glimpse of her credentials. She let loose a sigh and tried to ignore some of the more pointed stares. _Just a stepping stone_ , she reminded herself. _Most of the people in this room were probably in your spot not that long ago._

A few more journalists filtered in before a rather prim and proper-looking woman in her forties stepped out and announced the stars of this particular press conference. A few men in business suits came out from a back door just to the left of the table set up. At this point, cameras began to flash in quick succession and the journalists surrounding Rukia got out whatever recorder or notes they were going to use to get their information. She too got ready, though her set up was worlds different than the elite writers in the room. All she had was an old, barely functioning tape recorder and her trusted notepad and pen. It wasn't much, but then again, she wasn't expecting any kind of hard-hitting news to surface.

Suddenly the camera flashes became more frequent as a recognizable figure emerged from the door. A rather tall man, with jet-black hair that had an almost deep blue tint to it and wire-rimmed glasses came walking out with his head held high. He looked to be annoyed before the press conference even began. Everyone immediately knew why.

Uryuu Ishida was one of Japan's leading movie directors. In the past few years, he had spit out hit after hit. In Rukia's opinion, his movies were nothing more than the usual cheesy and cliche chick flicks, but they made him an unimaginably large amount of money and she could understand that. After the director, came a beautiful young woman with long, auburn hair and a beaming smile. At first Rukia wondered if she was the new movie's leading lady (she was certainly pretty enough for the part), though she didn't remember Urahara telling her about any of the other actors or actresses being in attendance, but then she heard some of the reporters sitting closest to her whispering about the woman being Uryuu Ishida's personal assistant.

Though new in the tabloid part of the journalism industry, Rukia could still recognize a juicy scoop when it was presented to her, so the whispers about this 'Orihime Inoue' woman being more lover than personal assistant to the prolific director were jotted down on her notepad and filed away for future reference.

A few more movie staffers exited into the room chock full of journalists before the real star appeared. The sound of cameras flashing and reporters already trying to grab a comment or two filled the room as Ichigo Kurosaki finally made his appearance. Rukia had to hold herself back from laughing at his expression. He looked just about ready to murder anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. They weren't kidding when they said he didn't much care for the media. Rukia had to wonder if he was late because of the traffic or because someone had to literally drag him here.

The well put together woman from before just managed to quiet down all the reporters, who clearly weren't going to get anything out of Ichigo Kurosaki without a fight, before each of the movie officials said a small statement. Uryuu Ishida proved to be the most eloquently spoken out of all of them, to no one's surprise. He didn't get tons of backers funding his movies without some kind of charm. Finally, the statements came to a close and it was time to open the floor for questions. Despite the fact that he hadn't spoken up until this point, everyone in the room knew Ichigo Kurosaki couldn't stay quiet anymore. Rukia readied her notebook and made sure her tape recorder was at least trying to function. This was what she was here for after all.

As soon as the go ahead was given to the reporters, the room erupted into a barrage of questions. Rukia was honestly rather surprised at how quickly almost everyone in the room found something to say. She knew that if she had been on the receiving end of all of that, she'd have crumbled. Ichigo Kurosaki, on the other hand, weathered it with a straight face like a pro.

Eventually one of the more forward reporters was able to make his question heard above the others. "Mr. Kurosaki! Can you tell us about your experience on set so far?"

Finally, the orange-haired movie star spoke. "The experience has been great. My director and all the producers have us working efficiently. I think it will turn out to be a good movie," was his simple and rather bland answer. Rukia couldn't help but lift an eyebrow at that. Still, she jotted it down.

Another reporter, this time a woman with long brunette hair, got her question in next. "Can you tell us what's it's like working with your co-star, Rangiku Matsumoto?"

"Rangiku is great. She's an excellent actress and we've worked well together so far." Another boring answer. Rukia just knew all the journalists in the room were trying to get something more out of him, but he wasn't biting.

"Is there anything going on off screen with Ms. Matsumoto?" another asked.

Ichigo deadpanned. "No," was all he said and Rukia's eyebrows rose even higher.

"Mr. Kurosaki! Can you tell us about your altercation with the photographer last month? Have any charges been filed?"

"That question isn't relevant to what we're here for," he said, and Rukia could tell he was getting angrier and angrier with each successive question.

The journalists continued like this for the next twenty minutes. Some asked questions about the movie and the experience filming it, others asked about future projects, and still some tried to get out more personal info from the movie star, but as was evidenced by the answers to the earlier questions, Ichigo Kurosaki was giving them nothing. Rukia sighed at that. There was no point in her being here. Urahara didn't care about future movies or what it was like working with the director. He wanted dirt and no one was getting anything today.

Still, as the press conference started to wrap up and the last few questions were being asked, Rukia felt as though she should say something. Clearly he wasn't going to answer any kind of question about his personal life, but everything else was generic garbage that every celebrity would say in the same situation. If these people were all professional writers, shouldn't they want something interesting for their stories? Shouldn't they ask him more meaningful questions? If that were Rukia up on that platform, she knew she would appreciate a question about _why_ she was doing the movie. What was motivating her? What kind of legacy did she want her acting skills to leave on the entertainment industry?

"We have time for one more question, if anyone has anything," the woman running the press conference said, and surprisingly enough it looked as though most people either had given up on getting more information or felt they had enough to put in a story for their editors. Rukia knew this would be her only chance. She had no courage to try and speak up earlier because she knew everyone would look down upon her if she did, but there was just something about the way Ichigo Kurosaki spoke that got to her. He looked exhausted and uninterested. He was the star of a movie for Christ's sake and he didn't even seem excited about it! As someone who had to fight tooth and nail to get what she really wanted, that didn't sit well with Rukia.

Just as it looked as though no one was going to say anything, Rukia took a deep breath and raised her hand. "I have a question," she declared, immediately regretting her choice of words. Almost instantly, everyone's eyes were on her, including the deep, molten amber of one Ichigo Kurosaki.

Ignoring everyone's condescending stare, she locked eyes with the frayed movie star. She had to stop herself from getting lost within the depths of his beautifully colored eyes. She couldn't let his looks get the best of her, she had a job to do. And, at this point, it was less of a job as a reporter and more of a job as a human being.

"What kind of impact do you want this movie and the rest of your movies going forward to leave on your fans?" was her question. Her voice wasn't as steady as she wanted it to be but she at least congratulated herself for getting it all out. As a young journalist with a job that made everyone in the room scoff in disgust, the atmosphere before her was intimidating, to say the least.

Ichigo Kurosaki's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, at her question, though she still caught it. He tried to reign in his surprise but she could tell she took him off guard. That fact alone irked her. Had no one ever thought to ask this man anything of substance?

Ichigo leaned toward his mic and spoke. "Can you repeat the question?" Rukia wondered if she was unclear, as reporters surrounding her began to chuckle. She felt like an idiot as she looked around at them, but she started this and she was going to finish it.

"Well, you do these same kinds of movies over and over again. You gain tons of fans and recognition and fame, but have you ever thought about why? What is it you want to gain by starring in a movie? How do you want to impact the entertainment industry?"

As Rukia continued refining her question, Ichigo Kurosaki's eyes grew more and more until eventually he looked dumbfounded. And then, much to _her_ surprise, he did something she hadn't thought him even capable of when he first walked into the room.

He smiled.

It wasn't much of a smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. And then, he began talking. "Well, I'll admit I've never been asked something like that." Though she didn't let it show, that statement alone made Rukia feel happy. She might not have gotten the dirt and she may very well be fired as soon as she gets back to Urahara, but at least she did something no other reporter had done before. "Just like everyone else in the industry wants, I'd like to have a positive impact, of course. My movies may not be on every single Oscar ballot, but they make people happy and that's all that matters. I want someone who's getting over a breakup or something to watch one of my movies and believe that that can happen to them, despite everything. I want people to think that they can find happiness and love and all that sappy shit whenever they think about me and my acting. That's the kind of impact I'd like to have."

At his words, Rukia couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her face as well. As the press conference was called to a close and the ones sitting at the long table began to make their exit, security guards in tow, Rukia kept her eyes glued on Ichigo Kurosaki's as he was still fixated on her, right up until he turned to leave through the back door he had entered through.

Rukia shook her head in disbelief at that rather strange turn of events. Some of the others around her started whispering and giving her confused looks as she got up and gathered her stuff to leave, but she ignored them.

Maybe this job wasn't as awful as she had originally thought it would be. Interactions like that were exactly why she wanted to be a journalist in the first place. She wanted people to be open and honest with her. She wanted to write about why people did what they did. Humans were awesome, for the most part, and that's really all Rukia ever wanted to write about.

Of course, working for a tabloid newspaper certainly called that belief into question more often than not, but nevertheless she continued to hold to it. Maybe, just maybe, someone would stop and appreciate her outlook on life somewhere down the road.

Though she had a _teeny tiny_ feeling that that wouldn't happen when she showed up at her boss's office empty-handed the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello lovely readers! Once again, I'm blown away by the positive response to the first chapter. Means so much! This chapter is a bit shorter is basically just the first chapter from Ichigo's point of view but it's important for the plot moving forward to find out what Ichigo thinks about his first interaction with Rukia. This took far too long to get out for a multitude or reasons I won't get into and for that I apologize but the next chapter is almost done and is far juicier than this one so I hope that makes up for the long wait. If all goes according to plan I'd like to have it out by the end of today or tomorrow. Fingers crossed ;) Hope you enjoy! As always your feedback is so so so appreciated.**

* * *

An insistent buzzing sound coming from the nightstand abruptly woke the young, orange-haired man. The light was practically blinding as it streamed through the window of his bedroom. Ichigo Kurosaki squinted at the intrusion and rubbed his eyes wearily before taking a peek at his annoyingly persistent cell phone.

Ten missed calls, all from his assistant. That could only mean one thing. What time was it? Ichigo swiped away the missed calls notification to find that it was already 4:30 in the afternoon. That's what he got for staying up until the wee hours of the morning going over lines. Now he was going to be late for his press conference and his PA was going to _kill_ him.

The phone went off again, notifying him of yet another call from his no doubt furious assistant. He sighed and pressed the button to answer. No point in avoiding her now. Might as well take the storm and roll with it.

"Hello?" he answered groggily.

Immediately he was met by the shrill voice of Nanao Ise, his long time personal assistant, who acted like she ran his entire life. Though, if he was honest with himself, she probably did. "Where the hell are you?!" she screamed and Ichigo had to pull the phone away from his ear so as to keep himself from going deaf. "The car has been waiting outside your building to take you to the press conference for thirty minutes! It's supposed to start at 5 and we're half way across the city during rush hour! Now I have to call everyone there and tell them they have to wait for you."

Ichigo slowly got up from his bed while Nanao continued lecturing him on his laziness and lack of consideration for others. He put the phone on speaker while she went off and began to dress. He'd been dreading this dumb press conference for the past few days and now that he slept past his alarms, it was just going to be worse.

Leave it to Uryuu to single him out for media coverage, just because he was that much of a prick. He _knew_ how much Ichigo hated dealing with the press but he also knew how much the press adored him and how any coverage was good coverage when it came to his newest movie. He was fully prepared to give the director, who doubled as one of Ichigo's few friend-like companions, hell when he saw him.

Of course, he actually had to _get_ there first, a task he had already proven to be incapable of given the time. Oh well, most of the media in attendance were only there to see him so he was quite positive they would wait as he fought the rush hour traffic to get there.

Ichigo finished with his clothes, choosing a more casual-looking suit (foregoing the tie as per his usual choice) before he looked at his hair in the mirror, ran his hands through it a few times only to see it remain as disheveled as it was before, and decide that most people liked it a bit scruffy anyway so he might as well just go with it. He picked up his phone, from which Nanao was still lecturing him, turned it off speaker and made an attempt to interrupt the woman's rambling complaints.

"Alright, Nanao, I'm on my way down to the car," he said before he exited his lavish apartment and locked the door behind him, his phone held between his ear and shoulder.

"You better not look like you just woke up. Can't have people thinking you're a womanizer _and_ a slob," Nanoe commented, her voice filled with disdain.

"Don't worry about it. Everyone there will be more concerned with my personal life than my appearance any way," Ichigo said with venom. Great, he was already in a bad mood and he'd only woken up five minutes ago.

"If you say so," Nanao replied sarcastically. A few moments later Ichigo was at the ground floor of his uptown apartment building where he spotted the angry woman in question with her phone to her ear. After spotting her 'boss' she came over quickly.

"Come on, we already have the security detail in place and your driver is ready to go. If we hurry, we might be able to make it there only a half hour or so behind schedule, which isn't great but it's better than nothing" she said, grabbing his arm (with a little more force than necessary) and leading him through the lobby. Ichigo could already see a couple paparazzi photographers gathered outside ready to pounce. _Great,_ he thought bitterly, _just what I needed._

Ichigo weathered the paparazzi outside his apartment with practiced ease. After his run-in with a rather nasty photographer the month before he knew better than to confront any of them, however obscene they might act. Nanao had drilled that point into his head with particular force and he didn't want another one of her lectures, especially considering he was due for a big one after sleeping in.

The ride to the building where the press conference would be held dragged on for a while. Downtown Tokyo traffic was no joke and Ichigo was thankful he wasn't the one actually driving in it. At least he could keep himself occupied in the hectic stop-and-go mess.

It might've taken forever in actuality, but to Ichigo their arrival came far too fast. He just needed to get through the next hour or so. He was a professional after all. He knew which questions to answer in the usual offhanded, superficial way of most celebrities and which he should completely brush off. Anything that had to do with his personal life and experiences was immediately off-limits. He didn't want the media to know everything, despite their best efforts to dig into his life. There were some things he was prepared to fight with every bit of strength left in his body to keep secret, whether the media liked it or not.

Ichigo was quickly ushered through the press stationed outside the building by his bodyguards, then through a few hallways, and finally into the prep room where his producers and other movie executives were along with Uryuu, all of whom looked rather upset to be kept waiting.

"Christ, finally," was Uryuu's comment when he finally made his appearance. "What the hell took you so long?"

"Have you seen the traffic outside? Maybe next time you hold a press conference, don't have it in the middle of the goddamn city during rush hour," Ichigo said in anger. He was far too annoyed to deal with Uryuu's usual snark.

"You say that, but we _all_ managed to make it here on time."

"Fine, I'm sorry. Let's just get this over with," Ichigo said with a glare, effectively ending the argument. He wasn't mentally prepared to put up with any of this.

 _Just think about the post-premier vacation to Tahiti,_ Ichigo reminded himself to try and calm down. _Beaches, drinks, and pretty girls in bikinis. Every man's dream._

As Ichigo was led to the door that opened into the room the conference would be held in and waited to be introduced, he began to wonder if dream beach vacations were really worth all this other stress. All he ever wanted was to become famous doing something he loved, but lately it felt as though he had made a horrible decision. He was starting to wonder if the fame was worth the intense scrutiny of every part of his life.

Again, quicker than Ichigo would have liked, he was announced. He entered to a room full of reporters and photographers already running their mouths, speaking over one another to try and be heard. The perpetual flashing of the cameras gave Ichigo a headache, he'd never get used to the bright lights constantly in his face. Still, despite the overwhelming atmosphere, Ichigo weathered it like he usually did and managed to make it seem like he didn't hate everything about what he was doing.

He sat down in his appropriate seat and tried to keep a neutral face as the movie was introduced, and the producers and director had their chance to speak. Eventually, once all the usual stuffy business was out of the way the media turned toward him, and the floor was opened for questions. Like a tidal wave approaching a small town, the questions practically drowned the orange-haired movie star. And, just like he was taught (or conditioned), he waited until someone was able to raise their voice above the others.

They started out alright, with a few reporters asking him things about the movie and his experiences filming it. He understood the need to gather enough material to write a story and keep their jobs, but he wondered why the media always insisted on asking the same superficial questions. Really, it was rather pointless since, in retaliation, he only ever gave the same superficial answers.

What was filming the movie like? How is the director? ( _An, asshole,_ Ichigo thought to himself) How is his costar, Matsumoto? ( _Oh, boy, here we go again._ ) Is there anything going on behind the scenes with her? ( _That thought makes me want to vomit._ ) What about the altercation with the photographer last month? ( _If I had my way, that piece of shit would be fired and banned from ever photographing a human being ever again, but no, I'm the bad guy.)_

This string of questioning continued on for twenty minutes, but to Ichigo it felt like hours. _Tahitit, Tahiti, Tahiti_ , he kept reminding himself, the repetitive mantra only offering some relief from the onslaught.

Finally, it looked as though the reporters were at least semi-satisfied, for now. The questioning died down and the woman moderating the press conference asked if anyone had any last questions to ask him.

And, just when he thought he'd actually make it out alive, a feminine voice was heard over the sounds of reporters taking last minute notes and gathering their things to leave.

' _Oh dear god, what now?'_ was his first thought as he scanned the crowd for the woman who matched the voice he heard. Eventually, his eyes landed on a raised hand, which he followed to find a twin pair of violet eyes latched onto his own. She was a small thing, with her dark black hair pulled into a messy ponytail and her face contorted in what looked to be pure terror, for some reason, as she cleared her throat and began to speak.

"What kind of impact do you want this movie and the rest of your movies going forward to leave on your fans?"

It took a minute for the words to register in his already extremely frayed brain.

Wait, what?

"Can you repeat the question?" he asked, her words so startling to him that he wondered if he'd heard her right, though he didn't know how he could've mistaken anything. She was the only one talking in the room, all eyes seeming to penetrate through her very soul. Ichigo knew why. Poor woman looked to be young, very young. Probably only a few years younger than himself. So she was most likely new in the industry and every reporter looked at her like she was either a completely different creature or she was the bane of their entire existence.

"Well, you do these same kinds of movies over and over again. You gain tons of fans and recognition and fame, but have you ever thought about why? What is it you want to gain by starring in a movie? How do you want to impact the entertainment industry?"

Huh, that sure came out of left field. It was probably the last thing he expected to come out of this tiny woman's mouth when she opened it. Here he'd been expecting another typical superficial fluff question that had no bearing on anything, but she had actually asked him something...meaningful.

He felt kind of bad for her though. That question truly proved how green she was in the business. Normal reporters didn't ask rom-com male leads anything about what kind of impact or meaning they wanted to get from their career. Everyone else in the room was either staring daggers at her for wasting their time or was trying to stifle their laughter at her question.

He didn't think it was a dumb question though. In fact, it was probably the best thing anyone from the media had ever asked him since he had become famous. The fact that he could actually say something from the heart rather than one of his many heavily rehearsed lines that he practically pulled out of his back pocket was exciting, to say the least.

Not being able to hold back how relieved he was at what she had asked him, he gave her something he never gave to members of the media: a smile.

It was as muted as can be, but nonetheless still a smile.

"Well, I'll admit I've never been asked something like that," he began, which was absolutely a true statement. He had to pause and try and think up an answer that had substance because he felt as though that was what the question deserved.

As he went on about wanting his movies to positively impact his fans and give them hope in the midst of heartbreak, his eyes were locked onto the purple orbs belonging to the young and frazzled reporter. He never cared much for the media, but the courage it took to ask him something like that in a room full of people that outranked her in every way deserved his utmost attention and focus.

He was pleased, when he got to the end of his statement, to see her smiling back at him. He certainly wasn't expecting to have anything close to a _positive_ experience to end this particular media appointment, but he was immensely thankful for the jumpstart to his day. He was grateful for the opportunities he had, and he did want to make an impact in people's lives, even if that was just by starring in cheesy rom-com flicks.

When the moderator announced the end of the press conference and all the other people surrounding him got up to leave, he followed suit slowly, still not being able to take his eyes off the tiny reporter. There wasn't anything particularly fascinating about her (though her eyes were what half the women he worked with would kill for), but he still found himself unable to look away. He hoped he at least spoke his thanks through his gaze, and he figured she got the message, given how pleased she looked as she too could not look away from him.

Once he was finally back in the prep room, getting ready to go back to his home, he shook off the experience. No point in dwelling on a reporter, especially once he remembered the lecture his assistant would give him, the mountain of lines he had to memorize for his newest movie, and the call with his lawyer scheduled for the following day to talk about the charges the photographer brought against him.

Still, he was thankful for that tiny moment, whatever it was, for lifting his spirits even for a brief moment. But now it was back to reality. Tomorrow he'd forget all about the reporter with the beautiful violet eyes and continue on with his life.

It's not like he'd ever see her again.

* * *

 **Sure, Jan. Stay tuned for chapter 3!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Bet you didn't think I'd keep my promise and actually update on time did you? Tbh, I'm kind of surprised too but here is the next chapter! I figured since it'd been so long since the last one I'd give you guys two updates in a day to make up for it. This one definitely moves the plot along a lot more, which should be obvious by the end so I hope you all enjoy it! Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

Rukia sat in the old, very uncomfortable chair feeling the sweat start to bead on her forehead as her hands fumbled and twisted while she endured the anxiety-inducing silence. Her boss was currently reading her notes from the press conference on the other side of his desk, his face curiously emotionless as his eyes scanned down the paper she'd given him.

 _God this is unbearable,_ she thought to herself. She wished Urahara would at least say something or give her any kind of indication that he either hated or begrudgingly accepted what she'd given him. This meeting to discuss the Ichigo Kurosaki press conference was a make-or-break moment for her job and she just hated the thought of going back to a ramen noodle diet and having to walk everywhere because she couldn't afford gas while she was unemployed.

Finally, blessedly, Urahara's eyes rose from her notes and met her own. All she could do under his intense scrutiny was smile sheepishly and hope he'd take pity on her poor soul. Eventually, once his cryptic silence grew to be far too much to bear, she spoke up.

"W-well, at least you can't say I didn't try," she offered, knowing it was as lame as it sounded.

At this, Urahara heaved a big sigh and set her notes down with a plop on his desk. "What am I going to do with you, Kuchiki?" was all he said, more to himself than anything else.

"What, I went like you asked me to. I copied down most of what was said like you asked me to. I even asked a question even though everyone there thought I was a pathetic lunatic!" she pleaded, trying her best to prove she wasn't a total failure. She knew that wasn't good enough for Kisuke Urahara's infamous tabloid though.

"Kuchiki," he began in a tone that made it seem like he was talking to a child, "there is nothing here I can publish. All the other entertainment rags are going to say the exact same thing, I can't make a headline from this," he admonished. Rukia sunk back into her chair a little at his words.

"Well, I don't really know what you expected of me. Almost everyone there tried to get some dirt too, but he wasn't buying. If I had asked, he would have ignored me like he ignored everyone else."

"But he didn't ignore you," was all Urahara said, causing Rukia to look at him strangely.

"What do you mean?"

"He answered your question, and rather elegantly. Clearly, you caused him to stop and think. Who's to say he wouldn't have been in a good enough mood to answer another question."

Rukia was speechless at that. She had been so pleased with herself after her question went over so well with the handsome celebrity that she hadn't even thought of doing more poking around. Although, if she was honest with herself, she'd know she really had no intention of ever butting in on Ichigo Kurosaki's private business. She respected him enough, believe it or not, to let any inclination to ask a personal question slide.

But like hell was she going to tell her boss any of that. She had a job, as hated as it was, to try and salvage.

"Kuchiki, I realize that you'd much rather be writing for the _Tokyo Times_ than my humble little tabloid newspaper, but that doesn't mean you still don't earn a paycheck here. You are, for the time being, a tabloid reporter. That means you do whatever it takes, you step over whatever social boundary or etiquette exists, to get the scoop. The old bitties that pay a miniscule amount of yen to read my newspaper don't care what emotional impact drives Kurosaki's acting career. They want to know what co-star he's fucking and what trouble he's getting himself into on his lavish beach vacations. Do you understand?"

Rukia bottled up all the nasty things she wanted to say and nodded her head. "Yes."

"Now, in any normal situation I'd fire you for once again failing at what I pay you to do," Urahara started and a blinding beacon of hope appeared in Rukia's brain. Was he going to give her another chance? Surely, she wouldn't be that lucky.

"However, the situation you described to me from the press conference has me...thinking," Uraraha said with a sly smirk. Rukia had been here long enough to know that was never a good thing. What could he possibly want from her now?

"While you may have forgotten you were a tabloid reporter for a minute, your decision to actually ask Kurosaki of substance might work in our favor."

"What do you mean by that?" Rukia asked warily.

Instead of answering her, Urahara smirked and reached down into one of the side drawers on his desk, pulled out a gray piece of plastic that looked like a blank credit card, and tossed it over to her side. Rukia looked up at her boss in confusion.

"What is this?" she asked as she took the liberty to pick it up and turn it over in her hands, observing it from all sides.

"It's a key card...to the parking garage of Ichigo Kurosaki's uptown apartment building," Urahara answered practically gleefully. He loved having the upper hand in conversations like this.

Rukia's eyes widened at his answer as she looked back at the gray card. "Y-you're joking...right?"

"Why I would I joke about something like that. You should know I'm _always_ serious."

Rukia had to use every minute particle of strength in her body not to roll her eyes dramatically at that blatant lie.

"How did you get this?" she asked instead, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

"A very, _very_ dear friend of mine happens to own a nice little nail salon on the ground floor of the building that just so happens to share the same garage as the residents. She only lives a few blocks away so she doesn't drive to work and gave the card to me for...a situation like this," Urahara said in satisfaction as he leaned back in his chair, crossed his fingers like a 1920s mobster, and tried, but failed, to contain the childish grin from spreading across his face.

Rukia sighed. Even though she already knew the answer she still asked, "What the hell do you want me to do with this?"

Urahara's grin grew wider at her question. "What I want, my dear Rukia," he began, his voice already grating on her frayed nerves. _If you don't do what he wants you don't have a job,_ Rukia reminded herself. _You'll be writing for the_ Times _one day, this is just a stepping stone._ Urahara continued during her internal peptalk "...is for you to stake out at Ichigo Kurosaki's apartment building and wait for him to either leave or come home. According to my intel, Kurosaki likes to go for long drives in the evenings when he doesn't have anything else scheduled, and that happens to be the case tomorrow. When he goes to his car, you run over and remind him of the curious and cute reporter from the press conference and ask him if he'll answer some more questions...just for you," Urahara instructed, Rukia's anger rising at his words. He was such a prick, using one little moment she had with a celebrity against the both of them to get what he wanted. Still, he was a genius, in his own right.

"Intel?" Rukia questioned in a mocking tone, knowing she was safe for now because Urahara knew she wouldn't refuse. "You're a tabloid journalist, not a police detective," she said sarcastically.

"They're pretty much the same thing, sweetheart. Get to Kurosaki's place around 4 or 5 in the evening and wait. If you come back with something, your job will be secure as long as you want it to be. If not, we part ways. Deal?"

Rukia turned over the grey keycard in her hands and cursed her bad luck at ending up at this place as a starter job. She knew she couldn't refuse, but oh what she would give if she could. She'd annoy poor Ichigo Kurosaki, he'd immediately lose whatever good opinion he'd had of her, and then she'd continue to be a lowlife tabloid journalist probably until the day she died, knowing her luck.

"Deal."

* * *

"God it's _fucking_ cold," Rukia exclaimed to her empty car for probably the hundredth time in the last two hours. One thing Urahara failed to mention when he presented the option of the stakeout to her was that the parking garage would be insanely cold in the middle of winter and she'd have no way of warming up given that the heater in her car was broken.

For probably the thousandth time that day, she cursed her boss for his conniving ideas that always put her in situations like this, where no matter what she would get the short end of the stick and he'd come out victorious. She wanted to be anywhere but here, creepily hiding out in run down car in a parking garage of a ridiculously expensive apartment building waiting for a celebrity just so she could ask him who he's been sleeping with lately.

Why, why, _why_ did she have to want to become a journalist. She could've done what her brother wanted and become a businesswoman at his company or at the very least something with some kind of prestige. She might not have been happy, but at least she'd still have her brother's wealth to get her through any kind of graduate school and then she'd have a good guaranteed career waiting for her at Byakuya's company.

But no, she had to be drawn to a field like journalism, where her starting career put her in a situation where she was freezing to death in a random parking garage. Maybe Byakuya had been right when they'd had that argument about her future years ago and he ended up cutting her off. The only reason he'd done it was to prove to her she couldn't just do whatever she wanted without his help. Rukia, being the way she was, obstinately declared she didn't need her brother or his money to achieve her dreams, which of course had promptly made her broke.

She could take the constant frozen meals, and she didn't really mind the occasional cockroach murder or leaky ceiling at her run-down apartment. If it meant she was doing what she loved, she'd deal with the less than ideal circumstances because one day it'd pay off. But right now, she wasn't doing what she loved. She was mildly stalking a celebrity in the bitter cold just to save herself from losing a job she despised. If this was how it was going to be for years until she, by some miracle, got a more respectable job, she wondered if it'd even be worth it.

The real question was whether or not her ego could handle going back to Byakuya and admitting he was right. That would take a good amount of courage she wasn't sure she possessed yet.

As she became consumed with these life-altering thoughts about her future and what she even wanted to do with herself, she almost didn't notice a car come rolling into the garage, parking, and a man with orange hair wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black hoodie stepping out and walking toward the elevator. The car was a ridiculously expensive black Jaguar and was exactly like Urahara had described. It was go time.

Immediately she was brought out of her thoughts and her body went into action. She had to take one last deep breath to prepare herself for what she was about to do, but she knew she had to act fast before Ichigo Kurosaki left. She quickly grabbed her notepad and recorder, turned it on, and exited her car in a flourish.

She walked with fast-paced steps, knowing that if she ran toward him he'd immediately be suspicious but also knowing she had to catch him. Just as he was about to head to the elevator waiting for him, she called out across the empty parking garage in an attempt to stop him.

"Mr. Kurosaki!" she shouted in a breathless voice. At the sound of his name being called, the orange-haired movie star stopped in his tracks and turned to look back at her in response.

She wondered whether or not he'd even recognize her from the press conference and if that meant he'd give her some of his time. It had only been two days since then and he had seemed so _fixated_ on her as he left that she hoped that would work in her favor.

And, it seemed it had, as his eyes widened in recognition and he waited for her to run up to where he stood motionless.

"H-hi," she said, out of breath from having jogged/power-walked across the entire garage to get to him in time. "I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm-,"

"You're the reporter from the press conference. The one that asked that weird question," he said, his face softening just a tad. For that Rukia was grateful, especially because he was about two seconds from hating her guts again.

 _Although_ , Rukia began to think, _I don't think 'weird' is a fare descriptor_ -...she quickly shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. She had a mission that she was 99.9% sure she would fail at so she might as well get the humiliation and rejection over with so she could go home and start looking for new jobs.

"Um, yeah. My name's Rukia Kuchiki," she said before she stuck her hand out forcefully.

He eyed her strangely at this and she wanted to punch herself in the face for acting so proper. Reporters didn't shake hands and introduce themselves to the celebrities they were going to get dirt on. They shoved taperecorders in their face, spoke above any objections, and got to work.

"Um, okay," was Kurosaki's response as he awkwardly shook her proffered hand, not bothering to give his own name because _of course_ everyone already knew it.

"I-I was just wondering if...um...you wouldn't mind…answering some more...questions," Rukia finally managed to get out, struggling with speaking each word. God, this was awkward. Curse stupid Kisuke Urahara and this stupid job for making her do this.

"Oh, uh, okay. I guess so. Though the parking garage is kind of a weird location for an interview, don't you think?" he said, clearly not sure what to make of her sudden appearance but certainly giving her more attention than he would to anyone else. Urahara was a jerk, but he was a smart jerk. Of course, it wouldn't matter in the end. Once Rukia finally asked him about his personal life, Ichigo Kurosaki would be gone.

"W-well, um, I'm not really...interviewing you, per se. I just want to ask a couple quick questions."

This response immediately had Kurosaki suspicious, she could tell. Their interaction at the press conference had allowed her to have more trust than any other random reporter showing up in his parking garage would have, but she knew he was still going to be quickly on the defensive. Every bit of information the media had gotten about him had come without consent, so he wouldn't go down without a fight. Rukia's only strategy was to play to his emotions.

"What kind of questions?" Kurosaki asked gruffly. Rukia tried her best to ignore his slightly aggressive response.

"Well, you see, I actually work for _Tokyo Digest_ and-," immediately Rukia was cut off by Kurosaki scoffing.

"You've got to be kidding me. That tabloid rag? _That's_ who you work for?" he asked, immediately defensive and angry. This was going south fast. "And here I thought you were an _actual_ journalist."

Rukia tried not to let it show how much that comment stung and continued. "I know it's not the greatest thing, but I'm just trying to get myself in the industry and this job was all I could find."

"How the hell did you even get in here?" Ichigo Kurosaki asked, starting to step further away from her and looking around for a solution. Eventually, his eyes fell on the gate that led into the parking garage. Turns out Urahara's 'intel' hadn't even mattered because the parking garage gate was malfunctioning and had been wide open for the past few hours. Rukia was honestly surprised more loiterers hadn't made their way into the garage given the fact that she knew Ichigo Kurosaki wasn't the only notable celebrity living in this building. And, even if he was, he was a hot enough commodity to draw plenty of nosy reporters.

"Look," Rukia began, trying to diffuse the situation as best she could. "I don't want to be here in this fucking cold waiting for you to come back to your house to ask you a question, but my boss gave me an ultimatum and if I don't get something from you he's going to fire me and then I'm never going to be a real journalist! Can't you just make something up that doesn't make you seem like too bad of a person but keeps the tabloids satisfied?" Rukia pleaded, going straight for the heart.

Ichigo Kurosaki backed further away. "I don't want to hear your sobstory. You're trespassing on private property. The only bone I'm giving you is not calling the cops, okay? Now go back and tell your boss and every other lowlife tabloid reporter to leave me the hell alone, got it?" he said angrily before he turned and headed for the elevator. Though, after thinking twice about it, he ducked into the stairwell so she wouldn't go after him, and was gone without another word.

Rukia stood still in her spot a few minutes after watching Kurosaki leave. _Well_ , she thought to herself, _that went about as well as I thought it would._ She sighed when she thought about her failure. Somewhere, deep down inside of her, she really thought she'd get him to at least take some kind of pity on her. But, it turns out, despite their little moment at the press conference, Ichigo Kurosaki was just like any other celebrity. Fiercely privately and incredibly hostile to any member of the media.

Rukia walked back to her junk car that stood out amidst all the Mercedez's and BMW's that littered the upscale building's parking garage in defeat. Why had she even come here? She knew she wouldn't succeed and now whatever good opinion this random male celebrity had of her was completely gone.

 _Back to the job listings_ , she thought pitifully as she willed herself not to cry. Maybe going back to Byakuya with a bruised ego wasn't such a bad idea.

* * *

Ichigo angrily marched up the staircase to his penthouse apartment. He didn't care that he was having to trudge up almost 20 flights of stairs, he was far too angry to get tired.

 _The nerve of that woman, coming to my house to ask me stupid questions! Just when I thought there was hope for the media._

He was so goddamn _sick_ of reporters poking into his life. Waiting hours outside his apartment building, ambushing him in the streets, and now apparently staking out in his parking garage. It was becoming ridiculous! What good was it to borderline attack him for one measly story? He was just an actor. It didn't matter who he was dating or if he was getting arrested or something. He was just another person!

That was the problem with his career path, though. He would never be just another person to anyone in the media or really any of his fans either. He was _the_ Ichigo Kurosaki. His entire existence was interesting to half the country apparently, and it would be like that for much of the foreseeable future. Just his luck.

Still, after all the reporters and photographers he had fought off in his time as a celebrity, this one annoyed him the most. That random reporter woman with the admittedly mesmerizing eyes had really made him stop and think. She had asked him something no one else had even thought to ask.

And now, here she was, revealing herself to be just as low and disgusting as the rest of them. Using her one good experience with him to her advantage. He wondered if she'd planned it this way. She asked him something meaningful to get him to remember her and then tried to see if he'd take pity on her with some sob story about losing her job. He had no pity though. If she was going to appeal to his emotions by complaining about a tabloid job, than she shouldn't be in this ridiculous industry to begin with.

And, it seemed the whole world was against him today, when he got all the way to the stop of the stairwell only to realize he had left his wallet in his car and had to trek all the way back down to the parking garage to retrieve it. God, nothing was going right today. First, his lawyer informed him that that stupid paparazzi photographer was pressing ridiculous charges against him and would probably succeed in getting some amount of money from him, then the nice reporter from the press conference turned out to be just like any other media scum, and now he had to go back and face her because he forgot his stupid wallet. He hoped, at least for her sake, that she was long gone by the time he got back down there. He didn't want to have to see her face again, everything about it made him angry where he was once curious and thoughtful.

All he'd wanted to do was go out for a long drive in his nice car to clear his head. It was one of his favorite things to do after a hard day when he had some rare free time. Now, that tiny reporter had to go and ruin all the good feelings he had come home with. He cursed her for screwing up his night.

When he got to the parking garage floor his car was located on and opened the door of the stairwell, he prayed to whatever god that would listen that she'd be gone. He hoped she had given up, gotten back in her car, and left. He'd get his wallet in peace, make a note to call maintenance and inform them about how much of a security breach it was to have a broken garage gate, and then unwind with some whiskey. Yes, that was sounding like a good plan.

And, when he opened the door and walked out into a seemingly empty garage, he thought he had avoided her after all and let out a sigh of relief. He went back to his black Jaguar, got his wallet, and let out a long breath as he walked back to the elevator (he would actually take it this time) and thanked the gods for allowing him to avoid contact this time around.

Of course, things were never that simple.

Ichigo realized this with startling clarity when, all of a sudden as he was waiting for the elevator to arrive, a startling and high-pitched screech of terror sounded throughout the parking garage. Not only was the scream one born of complete fear, but it sounded _awfully_ familiar.

Not giving any thought to anything else, Ichigo rushed to where he had heard the scream come from, knowing someone (he hoped it wasn't who he thought it was) needed help. The screech had come from a darker part of the garage that led directly to the very obscure and not well-lit back alley that eventually led back to the street. When he turned a corner and saw a masked man dragging a woman away, he realized just how serious the security breach of the broken door really was.

And, just his luck, it had to be _her._

Still, Ichigo was not a bad man. He was a man with a lot of anger, sure, but he was not going to let any woman, even a tabloid reporter, be taken away by a masked man sneaking into an upscale parking garage.

The reporter, this Rukia woman, was struggling as best she could against the man in a ski mask who had her in a chokehold and was dragging her to the exit. Convenient for the attacker to wear a mask, given the amount of security cameras present in the garage. Rather than shouting at him and trying to rush him, Ichigo knew he needed to play his cards right. He had no idea what kind of weapons this man had on him, as he couldn't see any kind of gun or knife but knew one could be hidden away. If he just up and shouted at them, the man could decide to get rid of the evidence of his crime right away, which ultimately would mean one less tabloid reporter in the world.

And, as annoying as they were, there was no way in hell Ichigo was going to let that happen, despite his notoriety.

The attacker was dragging Rukia to the back entrance so Ichigo snuck around to another corner of the garage, hoping to catch him from behind. It was a miracle Rukia had even been able to let out the one scream for help as the masked attacker had a firm hand around her mouth, silencing her. Ichigo looked closely and could spy tears coming down her face, and a part of him twinged at the sight, despite everything. He didn't care what she had tried to pull on him, she was still a woman in a dangerous situation and he would _not_ stand idly by.

They continued to struggle to the exit as Ichigo snuck closer to where they were. He couldn't even believe this was actually happening. A woman getting attacked and dragged out of a building that was _supposed_ to have impeccable security was rare, and of course he had to be around for it too.

And, even though he had no idea who was watching or what people would say, as soon as the attacker got within arms reach, Ichigo prayed once again to the gods that his martial arts skills hadn't grown that rusty. He had to do something.

He rushed up behind the attacker, completely surprising him as he delivered a heavy blow to his head, knocking him to the side and allowing him to release the struggling Rukia from his grip. She fell to the ground in shock and the attacker whirled around to where Ichigo had his fist up to deliver another decisive blow to his face. He struggled with trying to contain the would-be criminal, but it seemed whoever this guy was, he was good at what he did. Somehow, whether it be because of his own skill or Ichigo being rather rusty, he escaped Ichigo's hold and ran as fast as he could out of the parking garage. Ichigo tried to go after him but knew it was no use. And, Rukia's soft cry from his side had him completely shifting his focus to her.

She was sprawled on the ground, breathing hard and clearly trying to come to terms with what almost happened to her. And really, what _did_ happen to her. She looked to be on the verge of panicking and, once again, despite his previous opinion of her, a part of Ichigo's heart tugged at the sight. He leaned down and reached out a hand, which immediately caught her attention.

She raised scared and confused eyes toward and he had to tell himself not to react to both the emotion and the incredible depth her violet orbs held. Damn, what was with this woman and her eyes? It was starting to freak him out how captivated he was by them.

He shook himself of that thought. She had just been attacked. He had to call the police and he had to calm her down.

As he waited for her to accept his hand and compose herself, he thought about what the hell had just happened. If he hadn't gone back to get his wallet, if he hadn't stopped and listened to her sob story about losing her job...he didn't even want to think about what might've happened.

Rukia continued to look up at him in surprise. He had just saved her from god knows what and she couldn't decide whether she was more grateful or shocked. She accepted his hand and he brought her to her feet, where she shakily stood. He mumbled something about getting her upstairs so he could call the police and they could deal with whatever happened and she just nodded along, too shell-shocked to process what just happened to her.

What they were both unaware of, however, was the unassuming paparazzi photographer who had been at the broken garage door, documenting everything that had just happened.

* * *

 **Welp, nothing is kept secret when you're famous, huh? Hope you guys liked it! Leave a review to let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter was...fun as hell to write. I'll leave it at that ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

Rukia stood completely still, feeling as though her body was frozen both in space and in time. Her brain was far too occupied with processing the events of the past twenty minutes to focus on moving her muscles. The only parts of her that were moving were her eyes, as they dashed around the lavish penthouse apartment, taking in the extravagance in disbelief as they desperately tried their best to avoid landing on a certain orange-haired celebrity who was currently on the phone with the police.

As she stood like a statue in the middle of Ichigo Kurosaki's living room, her brain was practically short-circuiting, with the only tangible thoughts running by on repeat being "Holy mother of god what the _fuck_ just happened" and "how the hell did I end up here?"

Once the initial fear of the situation faded as Ichigo silently brought her up to his home, the dread and shock started to settle in. How did the universe develop such an enormous grudge against her to not only have her car break down after she had just been practically inadvertently fired from her job via an admittedly attractive rom-com star, then have her attacked by some random psycho while she was cursing the world for her bad luck, and _then_ , as if that wasn't enough hell for one day, have said rom-com star come to her rescue like some strange orange-topped knight in shining armor? She could write a book about her misfortunes at this point. Maybe then she wouldn't be stuck groveling at Kisuke Urahara's feet anymore.

She shook her head and tried to focus her mind back on the situation at hand. Ichigo Kurosaki had just potentially saved her life from a psycho rapist attacker, she was in his stupidly overpriced penthouse apartment approximately fifteen minutes after he had just yelled at her to stay out of his life, and now he was phoning the police who she would have to be interviewed by and potentially be called in to identify suspects, etc, etc, etc.

This was all _far_ too much for her frayed self to handle. Hence, her current state of paralysis as she let Kurosaki lead the situation. From the bits of his phone conversation she could gather in her current state, it sounded as though someone from the police department had just been dispatched to come and talk to them. This was going to be a long night, Rukia could already tell. She hoped at the very least the police interview would go quickly. After everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen as soon as she turned up at her boss's office the following day empty-handed, Rukia just wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ichigo Kurosaki (she would continue to use his full name in her head, it had always been strange to think of celebrities without doing so, she wondered why that had always been a thing... _focus, Rukia_ ) hung up the phone and awkwardly turned toward her. He didn't say anything for a moment or two and Rukia had to wonder why. _What the hell does he have to feel awkward about? He's always had the upper hand in every interaction we've had (all two of them), so why is he standing there fidgeting and looking less Hollywood hearthrob and more shy teenager? Wasn't he just yelling at me and accusing me of trespassing less than half an hour ago?_ God, everything about this was so strange, the severity of what actually happened was beginning to falter in Rukia's brain given the...unique set of circumstances.

"Uh, the police are on their way," was all he said, still avoiding eye contact.

 _Thanks, Sherlock, I figured as much,_ Rukia thought and desperately wanted to say. She didn't know why all of a sudden her fear and trepidation had been turned into...annoyance. Why was she even here? The guy who attacked her was wearing a mask and clearly experienced. No amount of police intervention was going to do her any good. She just wanted to forget what happened, forget this night, and _forget_ Ichigo Kurosaki.

"I was able to get my friend in the police department on the case. He's good at what he does. He'll help you out for sure," the starlet continued.

 _Okay, whoopdi-fucking-do_. Rukia tried to control the rising anger and frustration. It wasn't Ichigo Kurosaki's fault he had been dragged into this. If she hadn't had been trying to ambush him in his parking garage, none of this would've happened. Still, she had to find someone other than the obscure, god-like figure of fate to place blame on and it was easy to put it all on a random celebrity who, after tonight, she'd never have to see or talk to again. Who the hell cared if she got snippy with him? He'd go on being rich and famous and she'd go back to being unemployed. She figured she had every right to be annoyed at him right now.

More silence passed between them as they both awkwardly stood silently in his living room. The longer they stood without talking, the more frustration built up inside of the frayed tabloid journalist.

"Uh, d-do you want something to drink, or…," Ichigo Kurosaki trailed off and Rukia's pent up anger finally started to surface when she eyed him strangely at his question. Who the hell was this fidgety, stammering orange-haired fool standing before her? Because it sure as hell wasn't the media's hottest new commodity, the man women fainted over and men envied fiercely. This was not Hollywood's most alluring bachelor, this was the guy from homeroom who couldn't find enough courage to ask the popular girl out with a "check yes or no" note.

"No, I'm not thirsty," Rukia answered curtly, her patience wearing thin.

"Okay, then. Well, if you need anything...just...let me know," the movie star told her, _still_ not looking directly at her. Rukia had no idea why (probably just the day itself, in all its weirdness), but that fact, along with his half-hearted offer, was what finally pusher her over the edge.

"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly, not able to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. Finally, at the sound of her strained tone, Ichigo Kurosaki's eyes met her in surprise. Like the first time he had looked upon her poor, plebeian self, she couldn't help herself from being amazed at the depth and meaning his amber orbs held. She figured that was probably why girls were always head over heels for him, despite his strangely colored hair and permanent scowl. That, and the fact he was rich and famous. She figured that helped too.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, rather taken aback at how hostile she seemed to be. Again, a small (very small) part of her felt bad for taking out her overall hatred toward the world on him, but, again, she reminded herself that Ichigo Kurosaki could take a word lashing or two. Then, she'd be gone from his life for good and they could both move on. For now, she was stuck in his apartment while they waited for the police to arrive so there was no one better for her to get angry at.

"This whole being nice to me bullshit," she began, finally moving her frozen body enough to cross her arms. "Asking me if I need anything, taking me up to your apartment, calling the police. Weren't you just telling me to leave you the hell alone?"

Rukia had to hold herself back from laughing at Ichigo Kurosaki's positively perplexed expression at that accusation. She wanted to remain serious because, due to her unfortunate size and stature, people didn't tend to believe she was truly angry unless she gave them the full force of her murderous look.

"What are you talking about? You were just attacked," he finally countered, as if that was an excuse.

"Yes, I realize that. And, as grateful as I am for you coming to my aide, I don't particularly need, nor want your help anymore. You can go back to hating my guts and I can go back to worrying about the job I'm going to lose tomorrow."

Rukia could only describe the celebrity's expression in that moment as...dumbfounded. His eyes were practically bugging out, his mouth was wide, and he couldn't seem to form a sentence. It was as if he couldn't even _comprehend_ the audacity she had to act annoyed and frustrated after he had just potentially saved her life. And while she would still say she was very grateful he was in the right place at the right time, that didn't mean she wanted to stick around. The night was traumatizing enough, she didn't need to pile more on by making polite conversation with the man who had yelled at her, potentially caused her to lose her job, and then acted like nothing happened.

"A-are you serious? I just saved your life," he countered, the anger and frustration practically permeating in the room finally starting to get to him as well.

"Yes, I really appreciate that, oh wondrous knight in shining armor, but instead of groveling at your feet like you're used to the rest of the world doing, I'd rather just go home, go to sleep, and try and put my life back together in the morning."

"Why the hell are you so angry? Weren't you just crying and helpless only a few minutes ago?" he started, letting his anger get the best of him, but Rukia was not going to let him get away with it. Especially after calling her _helpless._ Of all things, Rukia Kuchiki was _not_ helpless.

"Hey, listen, buddy. You don't get to decide how I react in this situation. I'm the victim here, got it? And the last thing I need right now is your pity." Her voice raised in volume and her finger pointed toward him in an accusatory manner.

The more she spoke, the more confused and angry Ichigo Kurosaki began to look. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he tried to think of what could've _possibly_ set this strange woman off on him so suddenly, but before he could form an appropriate response, the intercom buzzed and the front desk receptionist informed the young movie star that a member of the nearby Tokyo Police Department precinct was here. He went over to go tell the woman to let them in and the apartment was thrust into silence yet again.

* * *

A million different thoughts were swirling around in Ichigo's head and they all had to do with a tiny and apparently malevolent tabloid reporter. She stood still, her arms crossed in an aggressive stance, her eyes attempting to find something other than himself to look at. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He figured any normal, law-abiding citizen would help out someone who had just been a victim of a crime, especially a woman, but apparently he had done something to horrendously offend her. He knew they weren't on the best of terms when he came to her rescue, but honestly did that even matter? Who cares about petty arguments when someone's in danger? He did what anyone else would do in the same situation.

So why was she was so mad? He knew nothing of her life or her situation, but it must have been bad for her to take out everything on him. He tried to hold himself back from getting annoyed in return, given that she was already in a fragile state of mind and he knew victims of violence all had their own way of dealing with their traumas, but... _honestly,_ why the hell was she getting all pissy at him, her rescuer?

Whatever, it didn't really matter. While she had managed to sneak back into his life after he thought he'd seen the last of her via a broken garage door, she was still right about one thing. After tonight, they never needed to see each other again. He shouldn't expect a hero's parade for doing something any normal human being with a conscience would do, so who cares if she got all mad at him, talked to the police, and then left. She was just a reporter.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the police officers who had come to investigate and Ichigo went to go let them in. He was relieved to see a familiar face amongst the three or four men in uniform as they stepped inside the penthouse. His old high school buddy, Chad, was a detective in the police department and if anyone could handle a situation involving the crazy tabloid reporter woman, it was him.

Thanks to Chad's expertise Rukia was interviewed and reassured fairly quickly. She gave simple answers, still stewing over their little spat and clearly eager to get home. She didn't even sound all that enthusiastic about the reassurances from the police that they would catch the person who attacked her. It was like she just wanted to put the whole situation behind her. Whatever, it didn't matter to him. It was her trauma, he just got roped into it. She clearly didn't want anything to do with him and he was beginning to feel the same about her.

And, if he was honest with himself, it was kind of nice having someone hate his guts instead of pretending to worship the ground he walked on. It made him feel a little more...human.

Chad finished up what he had to do, instructed his team on the orders they had to carry out, and then offered to take Rukia home. She obliged eagerly and they made their way out of the lavish home, without her sparing a single word for him.

Once everyone had left, he shook his head in disbelief. _What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Rukia dragged herself out of bed the next morning, already dreading the events of that day. She was scheduled to meet with Urahara to discuss the previous night's 'mission' at ten but she knew that was where her day would probably end. Urahara would promptly fire her, she'd go back home to cry about it for a few hours, pull herself back up, and start on the job applications.

Just when she thought she had a little glimmer of hope it all had to get screwed up again. This time she could thoroughly place the blame on a certain orange-haired celebrity instead of herself and her shitty circumstances. Last night had been...bizarre, to say the least. If anyone had told her something like that would happen, she would've fallen on her ass from laughter. She didn't want to think about him, though. It was his fault she was walking to her imminent firing in the first place. He had saved her, yes, and for that she was grateful, but she couldn't separate how he was screwing up her life again at the same time.

She trudged into the building where Urahara's _Tokyo Digest_ headquarters were stationed, already downing her third cup of coffee that morning. She walked to the elevator and took it up to the proper floor with ghostlike steps, her mind too inundated with thoughts to focus on everything around her. She had given herself an extra thirty minutes of sanity time that morning so the office was already bustling by the time she stepped out of the elevator.

However, as soon as she made her way to her shabby little cubicle in the corner of the large open room, she was surprised to find the attention of the hard-working employees shift...to her.

 _Okay, this is creepy_ , she thought to herself as she slowly made her way to her desk, trying to ignore the blatant stares pinpointed directly on her person. What the hell was the deal here? Did Urahara announce to the entire floor that she was getting fired that morning? Were they throwing some kind of party because of it? She had never took the time to befriend anyone who worked at the tabloid paper, too busy hating everyone and thinking they were lowlifes to choose this job while also failing to ignore the irony of that idea.

She figured it didn't matter if she was suddenly fired. Urahara had a revolving group of employees under him as it was, another job lost was no big deal.

So why the _hell_ was everyone staring at her and whispering amongst themselves? She felt like she was in some kind of movie and she had walked in with a scarlet letter on her chest. When she got to her desk and sat down, the whispering subsided a little as people began to get back to work but that didn't stop the random glances at her desk and the way people slowed as they passed by where she sat. Rukia tried to not let it affect her, but she couldn't shake just how freaked out everyone's attention on her made her feel. And really, she didn't think anyone would blame her apprehension, given she couldn't figure out why it was happening.

She did her best to ignore the poorly disguised whispers and glances up until her meeting with Urahara finally rolled around. Truth be told, it didn't matter if the whole office was focused on her for some reason, she was about to be fired anyway so who the hell cares.

Urahara buzzed her deskphone and she let out one last sigh before standing and walking to his office, her feet feeling like cement blocks with every step she took. How did her life end up here, she wondered.

She knocked on her boss's door, was beckoned inside, and trudged to the seats facing his desk before she plopped herself down in one. No point in keeping any kind of semblance of professionalism when she was about to get fired.

Urahara didn't look at her, absorbed in one of her co-worker's articles or something before he lightly placed his pen down, crossed his fingers, rested his chin on his hands, and looked at her with one of the most self-satisfied expressions she'd ever seen on his face.

And that was saying something.

"Good morning, Miss Kuchiki. I trust you're doing well today," he started, failing miserably at keeping the smug tone out of his voice. Rukia eyed him strangely at that before giving up and sighing at his antics.

"Urahara, if you're going to do it, just get it over with. No point in sugarcoating anything."

"What, pray tell, do you mean by that, Rukia-chan?" he asked with fake innocence, purposefully using her least favorite nickname to irritate her.

"If you're going to fire me, just fire me."

Taking Rukia momentarily aback, Urahara had the audacity to look _surprised_ at that accusation, as if their agreement the previous day never happened.

"Why, dear Rukia-chan, do you think you're getting fired today?"

God, she hated him. Stringing her along even to the very end. She wasn't looking forward to being unemployed, but she was looking forward to having an excuse to stay away from her creep of a boss.

And soon to be former boss.

"You know very well that I didn't get anything from Kurosaki last night. I went, I did as I was told, and I was turned down. Just like we agreed on, that means I'm done here. So, give me whatever papers I need to sign so I can at least get my severance pay." She needed something to put the ramen noodles in the microwave while she was unemployed.

At that statement, Urahara let loose a very fake and over-dramatic gasp. She desperately wanted to roll her eyes at him, but she had a sneaking suspicion that would only spur his ridiculousness on. "Oh, my dear sweet Rukia-chan. You think you're getting _fired_ today? On the contrary, you just became my new favorite employee."

It was hard to tell when Kisuke Urahara was being serious or not, but, despite all his misgivings, he wasn't the kind of guy to lie about firing someone. So, naturally, this particular statement made Rukia actually stop and listen.

"Wait, what? What are you talking about now...crazy man," she asked, keeping the last part to herself though she was sure he heard her. She didn't care that there was yet another glimmer of hope for her job being dangled in front of her, she was done groveling for Urahara and wouldn't bother kissing his ass to get it.

"You may not have gotten personal information out of Kurosaki...directly, but you still went above and beyond."

"Urahara, quit bullshitting me. What the hell are you talking about?"

At this, Urahara's over-the-top dramatic look turned into a one a tad bit more...sinister. "Oh? You don't know?"

"Know what?" she questioned through gritted teeth. Her patience with this man was currently in the negatives.

Instead of answering her directly ( _because God forbid Kisuke Urahara ever do_ that) he gave her a self-satisfied smirk, rustled through one of the many stacks of papers littering his desk, and plopped something down right in front of her.

As soon as she got a good look at it, Rukia's heart plummeted.

 _No. Fucking. Way._

What Urahara had presented to her was a newspaper, a tabloid much like the one she was hired to write for, only this one belonged to the rival tabloid Urahara's had always battled to get the first scoop from. Normally, Rukia wouldn't give a shit about it, but the grainy picture on the cover along with the headline written in bold, attention-stealing print nearly took her breath away.

" _From Movie Star to Local Hero: Ichigo Kurosaki Rescues Unsuspecting Woman from Rapist at His Uptown Apartment Building"_

The main headline was followed by multiple smaller sub-headings which also were cause for alarm to the now significantly distressed twenty-three-year-old.

" _Woman Reportedly a Tabloid Journalist!"_

" _Is this the Start of a Cinderella Love Story?"_

" _Pair Goes Back up to Rom-Com Star's Penthouse to 'Cope'"_

" _Did Ichigo Kurosaki Do More than Comfort the Reporter? Story on page 10"_

It was silent for a few minutes as Rukia gazed at the paper in increasing horror and Urahara looked on smugly. Finally, in a weak voice, Rukia spoke. "W-what the hell is this?"

"Hmmm, seems you weren't as discreet as you hoped to be. I am sorry I caused you to be in danger, but _clearly_ it worked out all right," was Urahara's practically giddy response. Rukia knew why he was so happy. She had been working in the tabloid industry long enough to know that this was a _huge_ story, especially because it involved the hottest new media star.

And, _of course,_ because the universe couldn't find it in itself to give her a goddamn break, she had to be roped into it.

The only coherent thought Rukia could form in her overused brain was, " _Well...shit."_

* * *

 **Hope the overall plot is starting to come together for you guys and you can see where I'm going with this story. Let me know what you thought! Your reviews have been amazing please keep em coming!**


End file.
